


Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp

by qaftsiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Chickens, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Dogs, Epistolary (of a sort), Gen, Gender Issues, Goats, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Stranded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-07-24 20:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 10,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaftsiel/pseuds/qaftsiel
Summary: In which Dean learns to deal with a baby brother, identity crises, and an assortment of farm animals.Also the dump-truck-sized hellbeast. And the stumpy-horse-sized hellbeast. And the parrot.***A mostly easygoing, epistolary/blog/journal-style, chronological-drabble-ish science fiction/fantasy AU. Destiel endgame, happy ending.





	1. Entry ID: 319

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, a fic happens because you just wanna treat yourself to some of your favourite tropes. Chapters will be pretty short due to the epistolary/transcript/video clip description format. I'm going to try to update at least monthly; I'm still recovering from a major illness last year, and while I'm doing a lot better, sometimes the spoons just aren't there after a full day of adulting. At any rate, I hope at least a few of y'all enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Best and thanks,
> 
> Q

Entry ID: 319 (transcript)

Date logged: 1/4/4528 - 1639

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson(at)lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 10, 130, 1110

\-- thing even work after who the fu-- oh, shit, okay. Uh.

So… uh, this is Dean Winchester, not Professsor…  _ Cain _ ? Seriously? Cain  _ Adamson _ ? What is this, some kinda Ancient Religions 101 roleplay?

Okay. Whatever.

This ain’t my terminal, and it ain’t my account, but I can’t find anywhere else to take notes in this place yet and I didn’t have space in my bag for a tablet, so… yeah. I don’t think the Prof’s gonna mind-- found a note on the counter with the deed to this place that literally said ‘finders keepers’, so don’t come banging the door down bawling about ‘breaking and entering’ or some shit.

Actually, if anyone actually gets out here to bang it down, I’ll just be fuckin’ impressed.

I dunno if the video feed’s working, but if the GPS didn’t do it for ya, I’m smack the fuck in the middle of nowhere on Purgatory with my baby brother, about… uh. I dunno, a  _ lot _ of walking from where settlement crew Echo Three made landfall. I think it was three months ago? Something like that. Hope y’all are still doin’ okay out there-- don’t do a Bravo Four, y’hear me? 

I still don’t know what old man Cain and his girl were doin’ out here-- honestly thought I was hallucinating when I saw a fuckin’  _ luxury prefab  _ out here, just hangin’ out on the rim of this giant-ass canyon like it’s just another sunny day in north coast Eden, but I’m guessing I’ll find out. Old man and his wife left a whole damn archive of video logs I still gotta go through.

I’ll attach some pictures after I’m done here. View out back scares the  _ shit _ out of me and the house is actually a smaller house with a  _ big-ass barn _ attached, but it’s good stuff, real solid. Old man Cain and his gal were serious about settling.

Oh, uh, about them. They, uh… I found ‘em together out on the big balcony porch thing. They were… they’d been gone for a while, so I buried them together, up by the cherry tree. Didn’t seem right to just leave ‘em. 

_ (A somber pause; the sound of an infant babbling is faintly audible in the background) _

Anyway, like I said, Cain and Colette were pretty good about this whole log-keeping thing. I’m hoping they’ve left a ‘how to run a farm’ tutorial or some shit, ‘cause there are _Terran_ _animals_ here and I’ve only ever done small jobs on this one goat farm my buddy owned. Figure I’ll keep leaving logs, too, just in case… whatever. Just in case. So this is Dean Winchester, brand-new Purgatory farm boy, signing off.

_ (muttered) _ … hope to fuck no one sees this. ‘Purgatory farm boy’? Just gag me now; I’m such a  _ loser... _ shit. How the fuck do I turn this thing o--

END OF RECORDING


	2. Entry ID: 320

Entry ID: 320 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 1/10/4528 - 0545

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson@lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 9, 132, 945

\--nd we’re live? We’re live.

I gotta question for the world: what the  _ fuck  _ is up with dude chickens? 

_ How _ does  _ one _ stupid bird make  _ so much noise? _

I get that I need the fuzzy little fucker around to make more chickens-- old man Cain had a whole flock of the things in his videos, but we’re down to four girl chickens and this ugly mug-- but is it supposed to  _ scream _ at ass o’clock every goddamn morning?

_ (loud, garbled ‘crowing’ audible in the background. It sounds less like a bird and more like something dying very awkwardly.) _

… first project is gonna be breeding a  _ mute  _ one ‘a these damn things, man. Fuck this shit.

Anyway, we’re a little over six days here and no one’s died… well, no one’s died  _ yet.  _ Better than I expected, so guess I can’t complain, though it’s mostly Cain’s logs and not any kinda skill on my part that’s keepin’ us alive. 

Sammy’s loving every bit of this, though, so that’s a bonus. Lot less screaming now that I can let him get around on his own.

_ (a pause) _

You know what? That’s a lie. There’s still screaming, but it’s more ‘yay animals’ or ‘I fucked up’ screaming and not so much ‘fuck you Dean put me down’ screaming, so whatever. All good. 

Animals. Yeah, actually, that’s a good idea. 

Okay, so we got the dumbass fluffball dude chicken and the four girl ones. We also got a red dog, a black dog, a chick goat, a dude goat… uh…  _ oh, _ that  _ asshole  _ barn cat, and I think some kinda stumpy horse? He’s a cranky son of a bitch and can’t neigh for shit, but he’s chill with Sammy so that’s all good.

‘S actually the dogs ‘n the goats that got us here in the first place. Now I’m sure y’all’ve heard about Purgatory, but whatever you’ve seen on Flix or heard about in class, it ain’t shit compared to the real thing, so good luck imagining how surprised I was when I woke up to  _ dogs _ cuddling my brother and  _ goats _ trying to eat my fucking tent.

I guess Cain or Professor Colette-- I feel kinda bad about the mix-up earlier, by the way, so please don’t haunt me, Prof-- let the goats and dogs out before they, uh, passed on? So far as I can tell, the goats just wandered around and did goat shit, and the dogs stuck with the goats because I guess that’s what the dogs were trained to do or something. Anyway, I followed ‘em around for a few days, figuring they must have come from  _ somewhere _ , right? Sure enough, they came back here.

_ (sound of something falling with a crunch; a small child shrieks in the background) _

Aw,  _ shit. _ Sammy... ugh, come on, piece of junk, stop recording! Sammy, hold on, I’ll be rig--

END OF RECORDING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude Chicken is a Silkie rooster. I strongly recommend you Google them just to experience the fluffy glory.


	3. Entry ID: 321

Entry ID: 321 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 1/15/4528 - 2242

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson(at)lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 10, 131, 1200

So y’all know the story of our good ol’ green-and-blue space marble, Chuck, right? Generation ships in hollow asteroids, thousand-year journey that ended about a hundred years ago, all that good shit. Y’all know that  _ most  _ of the planet’s pretty chill as far as life goes-- some critters, some stuff that’s basically plants, some other stuff that’s just… Chuck stuff, ecosystems, yadda yadda yadda. You got Lawrence up nearer the one ice cap with the fancy agro-region thing goin’ on, Dis southwest across the Strait with the deserts and mines and shit, Eden south of there near the other ice cap with the views and the mountains and the soil that’ll grow anything, and the Oz archipelago southeast of Lawrence with the beaches and hot chicks. So all that’s fine and dandy, and there’s a giant-ass ocean surrounding all of it.

Where better to put the requisite Stereotypical Science Fiction Death Continent on a planet than dead opposite all the good shit, right on the equator in the middle of that ocean, am I right?

If anyone’s getting these things, you gotta understand-- whatever Lightbringer Industries thinks they can do to settle or mine or generally exploit the continent, they’re fuckin’ wrong. See, I got dragged out here with a settlement crew, Echo Three. In case it ain’t clear, that’s the third team in the Echo wave of crews.

  
  
Twenty-two crews before us, and not one of ‘em survived longer than about three months.

Purgatory don’t play nice like the other continents. It’s cliffs and giant-ass jungles full of giant-ass trees full of giant-ass shit with giant-ass teeth, and there’s more toothy shit running around on the ground under the trees, and I swear to God half the plants here have teeth too. It’s volcanoes, earthquakes, rockslides, and giant fucking mountains, and caves and rivers full of, you guessed it,  _ more shit with teeth!  _ It’s rain every fucking night and heat like a sauna every day, and the only way me ‘n Sammy got out this far was because the only safe time to  _ run for your fucking life  _ out here is at dawn and dusk, when the night shit’s going to sleep and the day shit ain’t up yet.

Lightbringer ain’t shy about what wrecked the other waves; ‘s all up on their site. Most of the settlers are desperate or stupid folk come out here looking for a buck, because if they survive long enough to get carted back when their crew fails, they’re coming home rich just from hazard pay. 

Others have other reasons, but... that’s another story. 

How Cain and Colette managed out here, never mind why they were out here… I can’t wrap my head around it. Keeps me up at night, honestly, ‘cause ain’t nothing stopped the toothy shit out here from taking out animals and people and comms nodes and entire goddamn  _ settlements _ before. For whatever reason, this place’s intact, it’s got animals and shelter and water and cleared land for crops, and it sat here for who knows how long after Colette and Cain died, and it’s  _ still fine. _

  
  
For me ‘n Sammy, it’s a miracle. I dunno how any of this has lasted here, but hell if I’m gonna let it fall apart.

END RECORDING


	4. Entry ID: 322

Entry ID: 322 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 2/6/4528 - 1023

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson@lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 11, 133, 725

I’d be so screwed without these dogs.

The black one, man, she’s the sweetest thing on four legs, and I swear she’s adopted Sammy as her own. Anywhere Sammy goes, she’s there to baby him. Licks his hands, herds him away from the stairs, herds him away from the one tippy shelf by the window, sleeps when he sleeps, plays with him when he’s awake, eats when he eats… she’s his mama as much as I am. 

(object clatters in background)

Uh. 

I’m… a dude, yeah, so... papa, dudes are papas. Yep. That. She’s mama. I’m… not. 

Right.

Yeah. Um, uh, shoulda… shoulda heard her when the damn cat tried to jump Sammy while I was mucking stalls! Yep, that was. Uh. That was somethin, all right-- ol’ Professor MacLeod liked to go on about hellhounds in Ancient Religons 101, but I’m pretty sure I know what one  _ sounds  _ like, now. Soon as she’d run Asshole the Cat off, though, she was back to nothing but sugar and sunshine. Safe to say I ain’t gonna piss my girl off any time soon. I’d like to keep my face.

The red dog ain’t so much of a cuddler, but he’s not a dick. He just... doesn’t stick around so much as he kind of  _ orbits _ \-- every time I look up, he’s about a stone’s throw away, right where he can see me, Sammy, the other dog, most of the animals,  _ and  _ the fence line. If we’re inside, he’s, like,  _ stationed  _ in the doorway, watching the yard.

Only time he’s made any noise was once-- dunno what it was, but he’d spotted…  _ something _ outside the fence. Only reason I knew he’d seen anything at first was the weird little ‘woof’ he made, and the way he wouldn’t look away from something in the brush. I didn’t see all of it, but it was huge, dark, and low to the ground, and the way it went  _ totally still  _ when it realized we’d seen it… I don’t scare easy, and whatever that was, it was  _ scary.  _ Dog didn’t care, though; all the fur on his back went up, and he stalked  _ right  _ up to that fence and just bunkered down, growling and barking the whole time. Thought for sure he’d get eaten, but whatever it was decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.

I keep an ear out for him, now-- be stupid to ignore him if  _ that’s  _ what he’ll make noise for.

Dunno if Cain and Colette had names for these two, but I feel like I should come up with something other than ‘Girl’ or ‘Boy’. Should probably name all the animals, really. What do people even call animals, anyway?   
  


(a pause)

  
… is it animal abuse to actually name a cat Asshole?   
  
END RECORDING


	5. Entry ID: 323

Entry ID: 323 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 2/18/4528 - 1632

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson @lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 9, 133, 870

Went through some files in the Prof’s office. Turns out she was a retired biologist, and she’d taken a bunch of notes on the plants in the area. They’re all in her sketchbook-- a literal sheets-of-paper  _ sketchbook _ , I didn’t even know they made those anymore-- and they’re actually pretty cool. Some of em are a little smudged, but hell if it ain’t nice to put some kind of name to the Chuck plants around this place.

I think my camera’s busted-- got the thing charged, but it won’t take pictures-- so best I can do for the rest of you is… well, read out loud, I guess. Hope you don’t mind if I read to my brother too.    
  


If anyone’s seeing these, I guess I hope you don’t mind.

  
(sound of a chair creaking, wheels on a floor)   
  


Here, Sammy. C’mere and let’s look at the pictures, huh? You woulda loved this shit back before you got shrunk, come on dude.

(sounds of shuffling, a quiet grunt, and then an infant’s garbled babbling)

Yeah, man, check it out! Weird plants! 

Okay, so first there’s tower trees-- name’s not a joke, seriously. I’ve never seen trees as big as these, man, and I spent half a year on a taro farm not too far from that sequoia grove out in Joshua Mountain State Park. They’re not too different, far as shape goes-- trunks’re still huge cones-- but the bark’s gray instead of red, and they’ve got thousands of branches almost all the way up the trunk. The leaves aren’t much bigger’n my palm, but they’re blue as the sky in old pics of Earth and have this shiny, waxy, silvery stuff coating ‘em, especially on the smaller trees-- makes ‘em look paler than they actually are. Most of the biggest ones are hollow.

Don’t try climbing ‘em.

Don’t go in the hollow ones, either.

Reeeeally bad ideas.

We learned that the hard way, didn’t we, Sammy?   
  


( _ Sammy: Abbababababa. _ )

Aaanyway, so those’re tower trees, but what else did she… ‘rainbow plant’. Really? Prof, what’s with these  _ names?  _ Now, I dunno if you can see the pics, but the Prof ain’t wrong about the rainbow thing, but maybe she coulda called it… uh… ‘acid trip plant’? Whatever. Nevermind. Think like giant taro, but psychedelic, right? They’ve got leaves that go from red on the veins, to yellow, to green, to blue at the edges. Biggest one on the farm’s about four times as tall as I am; with a couple ‘a sticks to prop ‘em up, the leaves might make good tents.

Okay, this one’s kind of funny. Prof calls it ‘Juicebox’-- it’s this little shin-height plant with weird-ass cube leaves. I haven’t really messed with ‘em, but the Prof has pictures here of one of the leaves cut open, and it’s literally a juice box-- like, the inside of the cube’s full of sap or nectar or something, looks like. We got a bunch of ‘em growing around the house; they even grow in that one patch by the big window that’s just dirt and a bunch of dead other stuff. There’s some notes scribbled here, but it’s smudged to hell. Guess paper still gets corrupted, huh?   
  


( _ Sammy begins to grizzle and whine _ )   
  


Aw. Yeah, paper sucks, I guess, huh Sam? Okay. Let’s get you outta here before the screaming starts, we don’t wanna torture our audience. Nap-tiiiiime, heeere we go--   
  


( _ ear-splitting shrieking) _

END RECORDING


	6. Entry ID: 324

Entry ID: 324 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 2/18/4528 - 1403

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson@lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 11, 130, 1030

It’s still really friggen weird, how quiet it is here. Like, not the region-- plenty of weird noises around here-- but the farm’s… peaceful. 

I mean, this is  _ deep  _ Purgatory. The stuff on the coast is small fry compared to what’s out here! Like… like, that thing the dog was barking at? It came back again, and I have  _ never run inside so fast in my life,  _ because that fucker was  _ nightmare fuel _ . We saw needletooth cats and grab-worms and all kinds of shit back in Echo Three, but none of it was ever that big or that… that  _ nasty.  _ I don’t even know what to call the thing, but it’s big as a damn dump truck, and it ain’t even the biggest thing I’ve seen out here. 

I mean, this place is like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Shouldn’t all that stuff be tearing the damn roof down to get at us by now? Why won’t that big-ass thing cross the fence?

Not that I want it to do that, but… it’s weird. One little dog can’t that scary to something like  _ that _ , so what’s stopping it?

Still, it’s quiet, so I’ve been going through all the stuff here in the house. Colette-- the Professor-- has a whole shelf full of tablets with notes on all kinds of science-y shit, and Cain’s tablets’re filled with all kinds of articles and ebooks on weird crap, like gender and language and art and folklore and whatever. Seems like Cain had a thing for painting rocks, too. He had like eighteen of the things scattered around, and there were different paintings for different sets of rocks, and they all have different meanings or something. The Prof mentions it a few times in the logs she entered, and it sounds like it was just… a thing that he did every six days? Dunno. Sounds like it was really important to him-- she seems to think he did it like a prayer or some kind of good luck ritual, even if no one really does that any more. Called him a ‘sentimental old teddy bear’ more than a few times. ‘S kinda cute that she was so cool with it. Dad used to say the same thing about Mom and her embroide… yeah.

(a long pause; the rooster garbles again, and Sam babbles to himself somewhere in the background)

You know, maybe I’ll go… I dunno, find and paint the rocks.

Can’t hurt.

END RECORDING


	7. Entry ID: 325

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of short ones (this chapter and the previous) for you. Sorry for the delay-- dealing with some chronic illness issues and a whole lot of nonsense at work. Lots of fun ahead, even if these last two entries aren't exactly sunshine and silliness.

Entry ID: 325 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 2/24/4528 - 0045

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson@lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 10, 128, 1030

So Cain’s stuff, right? 

Not… not the rocks, but the other stuff. The ebooks. 

I got bored after morning rounds and I started reading one of the ones about gender and masculinity and femininity and shit. It’s past midnight, and I’ve only read like three chapters, and now my head hurts from thinking about all this crap.

Man, if Sammy was still… Sammy, he’d never let me live this down. I don’t  _ do  _ all this gender talky stuff. Or, well. I guess I never thought about it. Never had time, not with Dad and… yeah. But now I’m on this farm in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and Dad’s not here, and I’m wonderin’ if… okay, this sounds stupid, but I feel like maybe I’ve never been given a chance to, you know... do anything for  _ myself,  _ I guess.

Like, ever since Mom died, it’s been nonstop. I had to be strong and tough and keep an eye on Sammy when I wasn’t hunting down leads with Dad, and that’s all I ever did. No girls unless Dad wanted something out of ‘em ‘an even then it was just kissing. No b… no anyone else unless it was for a case, an’ sure, I snuck in some one-night things and some heavy petting in bar bathrooms an’ janitor’s closets, but never more than that. There’d be hell to pay if I got caught. 

Shit, I was drinking and winning fights before most schoolkids even got to basic calculus. I’m not even sure I own anything that wasn’t bought at some military surplus store out in the sticks-- hell if I ever got to pick anything, never mind pick something  _ different.  _ God knows I fought with Sammy about it all the time; he fuckin’ hated the way we lived, but I just couldn’t see any other way, you know?

It’s been twenty-nine years of that, but now I’m reading some of these books, right, and they’re saying exactly the same stuff Sammy was back then, and you can’t help but think about all the ‘what ifs’, and I’m… 

… I wonder if I couldn’t see any other way, because I was never  _ allowed _ to see any other way.

  
  
I dunno.

I think I’m done reading for now.

END RECORDING


	8. Entry ID: 326

Entry ID: 326 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 5/2/4528 - 1930

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 11, 128, 1000

I’ll be honest-- when I grabbed Sammy and ran after… after everything back in camp, I wasn’t really thinking about what came next. I just knew that I had to get him away from Dad, and that we couldn’t stay because Dad was gonna find a way to just  _ throw him away  _ now that he’s not… well, useful. 

I mean, I thought enough to steal like,  _ all  _ of the portable baby stuff in the house, and I gotta give Kate props because  _ daaamn _ that lady was ready for anything, but beyond that? Didn’t think for a moment, and by the time I realized that I was one dude with an overstuffed pack and a baby strapped to his chest in the middle of superpredator Hell, there was no goddamn way I’d have been able to find my way back to camp.

At that point, I just… kept not thinking about it. Kept my head down, kept our water topped up, and kept moving, ‘cause it was easier than thinking about the fact that Sammy and I were probably gonna end up being lunch for some freaky thing with giant-ass teeth.

Now we’re here, and we’re not dead, and… and it’s working.

  
  
I’m good at this. 

Crazy, right? I mean, I’ll be honest: I’m a dropout. I’m not sure anyone could get through school when Dad had us running from pole to damn pole chasing leads, but I just wasn’t very good at it, either, not like Sammy. Audited some classes with him when we got older, but... only thing I thought I was good for was fixin’ shit and buildin’ shit and winning fights and keeping an eye on Sam.

Now I’ve got dogs that hog the bed at night, chickens that’re laying eggs, and there’s a whole hydroponic garden setup out on the balcony that looks just like the one old man Josh had back in Lawrence, so I’ve got squash and tomatoes and beans and a  _ whole tank of rice _ growing up there. Growing, as in  _ not dead _ .

Did I mention the chickens? Named ‘em. I got Ugly Mug the dude chicken-- I call ‘im Mug for short-- and the girl ones are the Golden Girls because historical ‘flix are  _ awesome,  _ and there’s Bunker the red dog and Baby the black one and Bobby the weird horse, and Ellen and Bill the goats, and that cranky old barn cat, and you know what? They’re all doin’ awesome, and all of ‘em are starting to like me.

Okay. The cat don’t like me, but he’s a dick and doesn’t like anyone. Still not sure if calling him Asshole is abuse. Not sure if I feel bad, either. He got Sammy real bad the other day, and I’m damn scared he’s gonna get an infection or something right through the antibiotic cream.

But still! I’m feeding ‘em, keepin’ an eye on ‘em, and I’m studying to make sure I know what to do if any of ‘em get sick or need special care or something, and it’s crazy that I’m actually keeping all these plants and animals going, right? I mean, Professor Colette and Cain left pretty detailed videos on how to do all this shit, but I thought for sure I’d fuck it up. Still might, too, but I haven’t yet, which… it’s nuts. I’m  _ growing shit.  _ I trimmed Bobby’s  _ hooves. _ I’m a fucking  _ farm wizard. _

Best part, though, is how good this has all been for Sammy.

  
  
He took his first steps just today. Well, not his first-first, but the first steps since… since everything. He’s laughing now, and playing, and I swear he’s picking up new words every day-- heard him calling Baby just the other day, you shoulda seen how happy she was. She knows he’s a fuckin’ genius as much as I do. 

  
  
I just… I was sitting here, tonight, watching him sleep, and it hit me all of a sudden.

  
  
It’s exhausting, don’t get me wrong-- I’m busy sunup to near sundown-- but I feel like I can do this. I’m keeping this place going, and I’m growing food for us, and Sammy’s happier than he’s ever been since we got to this damn continent, and… and all of this is all I gotta worry about. No pretending. No bullshitting. No covering my ass so Dad doesn’t ream me over one stupid thing or another. I’m the one choosing for myself, and for us. I got us a bed, and a kitchen, and a  _ home _ .

It’s still a little shaky, but… man, I think I could be happy here.

_ (a long pause; sound of liquid in a bottle) _

  
  
Ain’t that something.

END RECORDING


	9. Entry ID: 327

Entry ID: 327 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 11/18/4528 - 2341

User: C ADAMSON ( cadamson@lukansas.ac .chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 13, 131, 1297

  
  


I miss my brother.

Like… he’s still awesome. He’s cute an’ little an’ fun, and he’s learning so much so fast, but…

I miss Sam. Big Sam. Sam before all  _ this. _

  
  
I miss that stupid hair of his, and his nerdy research stuff-- he’d be going Loco for Coco Chips over everything here. The plants, the animals, Freaky Dump Truck Monster, the dogs…

  
  
Fuck, he’d be over the moons about the dogs. 

  
  
I mean… I guess he’s still over the moons over ‘em, and Baby loves him like her own puppy, an’ even the cat’s warming up to him, so… fuck, man, it’s just not the same. He should be towering over me right now and asking about my feelings and doing that worried-wrinkled-brow face he does when he thinks I’m having a rough time. He should be sitting in the kitchen with every fuckin one of Prof’s readers spread out on the table, researching this and that and the other thing while I’m out with the animals or the crops.

  
  
I should be hearing his nerdy ass going “so get this!” like, every five minutes.

  
  
(soft sniffling)

  
  
I miss my brother.

  
  
Fuck you, John. Fuck you and your revenge and your bullshit plans.

Fuck you for dragging us around the entire fuckin’ planet-- LITERALLY the whole fuckin’ planet. Fuck you for abandoning us in skanky old motels and apartments while you chased some lead. Fuck you and your drinking, and your yelling, and your ‘be a real man or else’ bullshit. We were fuckin kids. We needed our dad, not an alcoholic drill sergeant with a death wish. Fuck. You.

  
  
Mom would never have wanted this. I… I didn’t want this. Sammy really didn’t want this.   


  
Oh God, I should have said something.

  
(slosh of liquid in a bottle)

  
  
I shoulda told you to go to Hell with your stupid idea. Shoulda known you’d lie about it being temporary.

  
I shoulda taken him and run years ago. 

  
  
Why didn’t I say nothin’?

  
  
I miss Sammy.

  
  
I miss him so much.

  
  
END RECORDING


	10. Entry ID: 328

Entry ID: 328 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 5/18/4529 - 1241

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 12, 131, 907

Shit. It’s been a while.   
  


Just… threw myself into things, I guess, ‘n lost track of time.

  
Whatever.   


  
Coupla weird things happened today. Wanna get ‘em down, ‘cause one of the weird things was just weird, but the other? Like, it’s gonna make or break things here.

Gonna hit that last one first. 

So there’s this section of the barn where some of the native plants had grown up the wall-- figured it was an old haystack or something, but I was a little worried that there was a crack somewhere, so I got out the compressor and the high-pressure attachment and started blasting some of the plants and shit away.   


  
Turns out it wasn’t cracked, or collapsed, or anything even close to that. Wasn’t hay bales, either-- there’s some kind of machine in the barn, and I’m 100% sure it ain’t a furnace, ‘cause furnaces don’t have big-ass glass cylinders, a powerbank that eats up half a wall, or a full-on computer instead of a touchpanel.   


  
Anyway, I had a hunch, so I got up on the roof of the barn, and sure enough, there’s a whole array of solar panels up there under the stuff that’s grown on ‘em, just folded down in storage mode. I cleared ‘em off, and I’m probably gonna have to do some serious work on the deployment mechanisms, but they’re intact, and it looks like the wiring’s still good. Thing is, though, they’re not the cheap-o stuff you’ll see on everyone’s houses-- these are serious-business, high-grade panels, the kind you print when you’ve got Big Shit to power.

I don’t wanna count my chickens before they hatch-- made that mistake once already with the real thing, seriously the biggest letdown-- but I think it’s a Germinator.   


  
Like, ‘chuck some biomass in the chute and grow whatever lifeform we have in the databanks’ Germinator.    


It’d explain how the Prof and Cain got all these animals out here, too; I found a photo of them in front of their transport, and that thing wasn’t anywhere near big enough to safely carry even the few animals I’ve got in addition to the prefab blocks. It  _ was _ big enough, though, to fit in a minifoundry, a fabricator unit, and a few blocks of higher-end raw material. It’d be easy as pie to print off a Germinator, assuming they’d splashed out for the blueprints and fancy mats.   


  
So yeah. Germinator is a BIG deal. 

  
… and, since I’m feeling a little greedy, send me some luck so the printer and the minifoundry’re in the storage compartment I haven’t managed to pry open yet. We’re set for life if we have both those things.

Oh.   


  
Speaking of greedy, other weird thing.   


  
I can’t find records of the little fucker anywhere, but I caught a goddamn  _ parrot  _ eating my sweet corn this morning-- damn thing’d shredded the husks and just gone to town, and I swear that’s probably the closest I’ve come to killing an animal in months, because do you know how much of a pain it is to figure out corn when all you got is a hydrofarm?    


  
Anyway, the stupid thing’s still around, just… it started following me around ‘cause the only way I got it off the corn was by feeding it one of the cherries I’d just picked, and then it found the goats when I turned ‘em out so I could use the power washer, and then it found the dogs when Bunk realized the goats were out and came over to babysit, and of course Sammy followed Baby out because Baby goes where Bunk is and Sam goes where Baby is, and so I get out of the barn covered in water and gunk and there’s the fuckin’ bird, sitting on Sammy’s head, right? And then Sammy starts squealing ‘cause he’s always excited to see me, and it’s like it’s a fuckin’ cue or something, because the bird starts screaming too, and it’s just been double the screaming all day today, unless they’re into something they shouldn’t be, and--   


  
\-- oh fuck. It’s been too quiet.    


  
Fuck. What the fuck did they get into now, I swear I’m gonna-- SAMMY...

END RECORDING


	11. Entry ID: 329

Entry ID: 329 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 5/20/4529 - 920

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 11, 133, 1002

(clattering; shaking breathing)

  
  
I… 

I fucked up.   
  


I left him in the yard for five minutes. I left him, and I come back, and he’s gone, and.   
  


(muffled sob)   
  


H-he wzz still on the farm, f-found him in one of the fields, that one empty one, but, but… but that  _ fucking bird’d _ gotten into one of those, what’re they called, the squareish things with the juice inside, and both of them were jus’ sittin’ there, eating, and I…   
  


He’s still fine, no signs of anything, but it’s the first thing we all learn here-- somethin’ ‘bout the plants here, the… plant-like things, it makes people sick, like a poison, and…    
  


… I don’t know anything ‘b-bout any of it, dunno how much it takes or how long it takes, ‘cause no one  _ does  _ it, y’know? We jus’ know people die from eating Chuck crap, an’ it’s been like half an hour, and...   
  


(Sam babbles contentedly in the background, oblivious)   
  


… fuck. Dunno why I’m even talking to this thing. Fuck you, computer. Fuck you, John, fuck this farm, fuck this planet, fuck that  _ fucking BIRD. _   
  


… wait. Not fuck you, computer. Prof, you better have something on this stupid thing that’ll fix this...

END RECORDING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will probably be mid-December. I know this isn't a very nice place to have to wait, haha.
> 
> Shout out to Scout, Nocturnal, Amelia, and Meredith for your lovely comments, and lots of love to everyone who's left kudos. I've been really bad about replying, I'm so so sorry, but I've read every single comment and seen every kudos notification come in, and I can't overstate how grateful and glad I am y'all are enjoying. <3
> 
> Thanks again for reading,
> 
> Q


	12. Entry ID: 330

Entry ID: 330 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 5/20/4529 - 1842

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 12, 131, 907

(sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle)

  
  
It’s a food field.

  
  
(bottle clunks down on something)

  
  
A fucking food field.

  
  
How’s that even possible?

  
  
More importantly, isn’ that the kinda shit you should have front ‘n center in your fuckin’ notes on this fuckin’ place?

  
  
So the Prof has this… well, it ain’t private, but it  _ is  _ in her personal drive, right? She’s written all these journal entries in here, tons of ‘em. More personal shit, I guess, but this one the terminal’s search app found mentions the field out front, and the juiceboxes-- that’s the weird plant thing Sammy and that stupid bird got into. Says the field’s weird because she honestly doesn’t know how Cain gets this thing to literally fuckin  _ zap  _ dangerous shit, right?

  
  
I’m too fuckin’ drunk to even start trying to figure it out. I can deal with freaky-ass predators and hydroponics and cranky animals, but Sammy, he’s just… fuck, he’s my baby brother. Literally a baby, fuck you John, an’ he’s gonna get into shit, and this whole planet’s covered in literal fuckin’ poison. I don’ have a creche to keep him in, an I thought he’d been in the barn by Bill and Ellen, so like… fuck. Scared the shit outta me. Gotta build him a… like a pen, or a baby cage, or somethin.

Thought I’d lost him. Wasn’t sure how fast or how badly, but honest, I thought he was… was dead. 

(more sloshing; a sniffle)

  
  
Anyway. Prof’s got before and after photos in there of Chuck plants and plant-y things in this food field thing after Cain did whatever it was he did to make it work. Before pic is like everything else, all lush and healthy, but the after? Everything in this perfect square is dead. ‘S just dirt and a few leaves, an’ Cain’s got a whole pile of dead plants raked out to the side of the field. Like, it wouldn’t be weird, except there’s a video that was attached a few months after the entry was posted, and holy shit. Prof’s got a fireleaf in her hand, perfectly healthy, and as soon as it touches the dirt in that field, it just… withers. Like, visibly just dies, right there, and crumbles into nothing.

  
  
Same video, she sticks a tomato plant in there, and it’s totally fine.

  
  
Whatever Cain did, it fucks up anything that ain’t human safe like, instantly. The Prof has some notes here about other stuff she tested while Cain wasn’t paying attention, and I guess those juicebox things are safe, ‘cause she grew one in the field just fine? I dunno. 

  
  
It’d be nice if that shit’d been right up front, but the Prof seemed to think it was weird enough to keep quiet from Cain while she did sm’more poking around. Says something here about checking the printer history, maybe digging for weird blueprints, but seems like she thinks Cain’s rocks have something to do with it. 

  
  
Too fuckin weird.

  
  
Too fuckin freaky.

  
  
Why the hell’d we leave Earth, anyway? At least only a little of the shit there wanted us dead, not literally fucking everything.

  
  
(More liquid sloshing)

  
  
God damn, I think Sammy had the right idea about a nap. Gonna… gonna go check on ‘im, and not worry about this weird shit until tomorrow.

  
  
Field by the barn nukes bad shit, juiceboxes are edible, rocks’re weird, this planet’s stupid, and Sammy’s okay. 

  
  
Sammy’s okay.

END RECORDING


	13. Entry ID: 331

Entry ID: 331 (uploaded video)

Date/Time logged: 5/30/4529 - 1204

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 11, 135, 981

RECORDING START

_ (The video, grainy from compression, cuts in with a blast of noise. A small, chubby-cheeked toddler with long chestnut hair is sitting on the floor; a black lab lies directly behind him, her sleek, shiny side propping him up. In front of the toddler, a large white parrot struts back and forth on the floor, flapping its wings and tossing its head as if gesticulating wildly. Every now and then, the bird looses a terrific scream, which immediately draws hysterical laughter from the toddler.  _

_ “The fucking bird talks,” a low voice-- Dean, recognizable from previous audio entries-- sighs from somewhere behind the camera. “Here I thought I was gonna debut my salvaged camdrone camera with some awesome video about getting the place ready just in case all Cain’s weathe-- hey, Sammy, uhn-uh, that’s fur. Gross, dude, put it down. Yeah.  _

_   
_ _ Anyway. Awesome video is instead… well, whatever this is.” _

_ As if on cue, the parrot stops, spreads its wings, and raises itself to its full height. “GABRIEL!” it cries. “Gabriel! Who’s a pretty bird, Gabriel?” The bird, apparently Gabriel, flaps its wings. “Pretty? Prettyprettypretty Gabriel?? GaaaaAAAbey! Hello Gabriel!” As if finished demonstrating its speaking ability, the bird resumes its pacing and cackling, this time with its head twisted round so it’s observing the room upside-down.  _

_ The toddler falls backward into the dog’s side, laughing so hard that he can barely be heard, even between the bird’s wild bursts of noise.  _

_ When Gabriel gives a particularly long whistle, the sound of a dog’s low howl comes from somewhere off-camera. The view pans past a couch and a tall bookshelf to an open, sunny doorway, where a stocky red dog with pointed ears and speckled fur is sprawled out on his side, eyes half-closed. His head, crowned by a single white patch, doesn’t even leave the floor as he sucks in a breath and resumes howling; elsewhere, the bird does a terrific impression of an ambulance.  _

_ “Unbelievable,” Dean says, exasperated but with a plain undertone of amusement, as the red dog continues his lazy howling. The camera pans back to the bird and the toddler. The boy has collected himself somewhat as the bird and dog continue their singalong, but then the black lab lifts her head and begins to warble bizarrely, almost as if speaking. The boy shrieks delightedly, clapping his hands, and joins in with his own babble. _

_ The combined racket of the bird, the two dogs, and the toddler is so loud that the sound quality drops.  _

_ “Cassie!” the bird squawks in a woman’s voice, interrupting its ambulance impression. “Anna, where’s Gabe? I don’t know, he’s that damn bird!” Tossing its crested head, the bird fluffs every feather on its body, every inch the image of outraged pique. “Damn bird! Anna, where’s--” The bird devolves into a long, nonsensical rant, sprinkled with sounds that may or may not be words or names: a particularly distorted ‘Gabriel’, ‘tree’, something like ‘cass-tee-el’, ‘cracker’, and several other things that sound suspiciously profane. The dogs’ howling and warbling dies down without the bird to goad them on, but the toddler’s babbling only intensifies in response to the bird’s frenzied chatter. _

_ The camera is turned; a handsome man’s face comes into view, tanned and covered in freckles. He raises his eyebrows as full lips pull back into a long-suffering grimace. “This is what I’ve been living with this week,” Dean says over the merry cacophony. “Bird up and started talking about five days ago, and as soon as it realized Sammy got a kick out of it, it’s just… it’s been nonstop until one of ‘em conks out.” _

_ In the background, the toddler-- presumably Sammy-- squeals. “Gabe! Gabe!” _

_ The bird, apparently delighted to hear its name, lets out a high-pitched, deafening “Wheeeeeeeee!” _

_ Dean’s expression doesn’t change, though one eye twitches as the bird’s cry reaches its peak.  _

_ Still, his green eyes glitter with mirth-- the nascent crow’s feet at the corners belie the exasperated moue he’s clearly trying hard to maintain. _

_ “Dambird!” Sam cackles. Dean’s expression flips into blank surprise for a moment, then sags into beleaguered resignation. _

_ “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. _

_ “Damn bird damn bird damn bird!” shriek Sammy and Gabriel. _

_ The camera is turned off.) _

  
  


END RECORDING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha can't guess what kinds of videos I can lose way too much time watching on YouTube.
> 
> Happy ChanYulKwanzaMas to all y'all celebrating holidays this season, and a very peaceful and warm winter's greetings to everyone enjoying some secular December time off (and I sincerely hope everyone gets at least a day or two to rest. Winter is hard). You'll hear from me again before the year is out; I'm working on more entries for BYAStomp, wrangling a stubborn chapter for The Night Watch, and playing around with a one-shot AU featuring Dean, Cas, and a pair of Louboutin heels.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and for all of your wonderful comments and kudos. Makes me happy to know I'm doin' something right. :)


	14. Entry ID: 332

Entry ID: 332 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 6/3/4529 - 1533

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 9, 127, -8

( _ A dull roar fills the background of the recording.) _

So, Cain and Colette had notes in here ‘bout storm season. Big red flags and exclamation points, all on entries about clouds, the flying-thing critters and where they go, what to expect… jeeez, what to expect...

_ (A crunch somewhere far away is audible over the roar; Sammy whimpers somewhere much closer to the microphone) _

I was hopin’ it was wrong-- hard to imagine storms worse’n what hits eastern Dis round this time ‘a year, but I guess it’s like the ‘hurricanes’ they had back on Earth or something. Storms roll off of Dis’ eastern coast and just… spin out over the ocean, and pick up all that heat and evaporation, right? 

I’ve heard of ‘em hitting Oz before. That big one about ten years ago, Gordon, did like a billion credits in damage to the resort on Emerald Isle, but they’re usually not that huge since Oz isn’t all that far off Dis’ coast. 

If it’s hot water that spins ‘em up, makes sense that they’d get to this point by the time they get out here. Six thousand kilometers to rev up… 

_ (Something crashes loudly again somewhere; both dogs start barking) _

Easy, easy! C’mon, get over here, you chuckleheads… yeah, there’s some good dogs, there you go. Settle in. You’re fine. 

(Sammy: Okay? Baby Bucka okay?)

Yeah, bud, Baby ‘n Bunker are okay. They’re worried ‘bout the storm, too. Here, dude, here’s your sippy. Gotta finish the log and then we’ll go back to the fort.

  
  
(Sammy: Foh!)

Third time that’s happened today. Thank fu-uhh-udge? Cain and the Prof splashed out for this fancy mono-dome house, ‘cause I don’t wanna think about what four walls and a roof would look like right now. The… damn, what’s it called? The wind spoon thing broke clean off about two hours ago. Cain’s notes have it rated up to a few hundred kilos per hour, so safe to say this thing’s a monster.

Hope everyone at Echo Three got out in time or found shelter, if they’re still kickin’. 

I… damn, I hope Dad made it, too.

  
  
Even if he is a… yeah, Sammy, I see you’re outta juice, but I’m cuttin’ you off here. Sorry kid.

Anyway. Started seein’ some of the warning signs they talked about right around the time Sam and Gabe decided it was Scream Party time, so I figured better safe than sorry, right? Got things tied down, just in case, and man am I glad I did. Seems like Cain and the Prof had a system in place-- everything out on that back balcony but the planter with the tree is moveable, so the whole hydroponic farm’s up in the attic right now. Barn’s battened down like we’re expecting vacuum, and all the animals are about as calm as a bunch of animals and a cranky-a… uh, a cranky parrot in a barn in a giant fuc-- _ friggen _ storm can be. Solar panels’re fixed back in their slots on the roofs, doorframes’re locked around the doors, baffles are in place down the air intake channels… we’re about as safe as we’re ever gonna get on this continent.

  
  
_ (A sudden, deafening crunch-BOOM overwhelms the microphone. When it cuts back in, Dean is swearing, the dogs are barking, and Sammy is crying) _

Son of a fucking-- all right, all right, we’re all here, okay? Come on, y’all, let’s get everyone back to the fort, here we go, no more sitting out in the noisy-ass kitchen, yep, we’re leaving. Bunk, Baby! Hey! Yeah, you! Come! Baby, hey! Let’s go, let’s go, everyone get moving, come on-- ten bucks says that was the tower-tree out past the fence, hey? Come on--

END RECORDING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, y'all. Life got exceedingly chaotic for about five weeks-- a lot of stressors, yeah, but a lot of really exciting things, too! While I've largely handled the stressful stuff (f*** insurance), finishing artwork for a gallery exhibit and getting the apartment ready for the bird I'm adopting still has me pretty tangled up. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	15. Entry ID: 333

Entry ID: 333 (uploaded video)

Date/Time logged: 6/4/4529 - 1032

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 12, 131, 907

RECORDING START

_ (The video cuts in to a slightly off-kilter shot of Sammy and both dogs standing next to a closed door. Gabe is clinging to the back of Sam’s shirt, but one shiny, mischievous black eye is fixed on the camera as the bird very deliberately sticks out its tongue. _

_ “All right, nerds,” Dean says. The camera’s field of view shakes and rolls as it’s picked up. “Time to check out the damage.” _

_ Bright sunlight and a chorus of wildlife noises fill the view and the microphone when the door is opened. The red dog immediately trots out ahead of Sammy and the black one; they’re a little slower in making their way out, as Sammy has to pick his way across a matting of broken leaves and debris. Dean gently coaches him through it, free hand just visible in the side of the frame as he guides the toddler in making his way to clearer ground. _

_ It quickly becomes apparent that there isn’t a whole lot of clear ground as Dean pans the camera upward. _

_ A yard demarcated by a split-log fence made of some sort of pale grey wood is strewn with broken branches, shredded bits of enormous leaves, and all manner of foliage in various states of destruction. Adding to the wreckage is a nearly fifteen-foot-wide furrow in the earth, starting with a deep gouge just inside the fence on one side and continuing across the entire yard. Dean sweeps the camera along the furrow until he pans up to its source: an enormous, hollowed-out, fallen tree trunk. The relatively thin layer of wood around the hollow has collapsed under its own weight, rendering the once-round trunk somewhat squashed, but the hundreds of skinny, straight branches still sticking out from the top and sides make it nearly as tall as the building it just missed. Silvery-blue leaves cling to the branches in tattered, sparse clumps. The rest are strewn across the entire yard. _

_   
_ _   
_ _ “Uh-oh tree,” Sammy intones gravely. Gabe whistles. _

_ “No kidding,” Dean breathes.  _

_ As Dean begins to pick his way across the yard, it becomes apparent that, while the fallen trunk missed the building, it didn’t miss the fence. The wooden structure is splintered and crushed around where the trunk landed and deformed.  _

_ A lump of debris near the trunk moves unexpectedly. _

_ The camera jostles, but the microphone clearly picks up Dean’s curse, Gabe’s flapping wings and squawk of startlement, and the red dog’s gruff ‘woof!’. It also picks up a burble and hiss that doesn’t sound like anything Earthly in origin; when the camera steadies again, there’s a creature standing off against the red dog. _

_ It isn’t much bigger than the red dog, whatever it is. It’s the same colour as the fallen tree’s trunk, and patches of iridescent blue glimmer down its spine as it warily, awkwardly circles the dog. Without warning, a double row of viciously sharp spines shoots up along its back, accompanied by the same hissing noise from earlier. “Holy shit! Bunk, get back!” Dean yelps. The creature responds by opening its head like a flower, baring brilliantly purple and orange patterning and a cruelly-hooked, sideways beak. It lets out a gurgling bark and lunges at the red dog. _

_ In a flash of white feathers and a bloodcurdling shriek, Gabe plunges into the camera’s field of view and directly into the creature’s opened face, latching on with claws and beak before taking off and looping around for a second attack. The creature, caught wholly by surprise, rears back with a shrill noise and nearly topples over.  _

_ The fight that ensues can barely be called as much-- the thing bristles its spines and swats at Gabe clumsily with its weird legs, but Gabe just flutters out of reach and relentlessly bullies the creature, swooping at its face and screaming bloody murder. _

_ “Gabe! Gabe!” Sam hollers from somewhere near the microphone.  _

_ “That bird’s fuckin’ nuts!” says Dean, camera bouncing as he runs to keep up with the retreating creature and its feathered assailant. Gabe keeps pressing the attack… and then the creature staggers backwards into an empty square of dirt that abuts the creamy wall of the building. _

_ The thing drops like a puppet with cut strings. Its hide begins to twist and peel away, shrinking into nothingness, and much of the body quickly follows. In seconds, all that remains of the thing is its bones and all of the musculature save that around its head, feet, and back. The camera lingers on the strangely un-gory view, but it seems the weird disintegration has done its work. _

_ “Huh,” says Dean as Gabe lands on the thing’s ribs and begins picking at the remaining meat. “Guess the damn thing’s edible.” _

_ After a beat: “Wonder if it makes good burgers?” _

_ “Fuckeh nuss!” says Sam. _

_ The camera goes dark.) _

  
  


END RECORDING


	16. Entry ID: 334

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this finds everyone safe and well. I know it'll find you loved, because I think you're wonderful people, I adore you, and wish to convey digital hugs and/or cookies for all of you. You're seen, you've kicked everything else up to this point in the butt, and we're gonna find a way to keep that streak rolling and get through this somehow. There are hugs and days in the sun on the other end. <3
> 
> Just a note-- there were three entries in this update. 334, 335, and 336. :)

Entry ID: 334 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 6/5/4529 - 2128

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 13, 151, 800

Pretty sure my arms are gonna fall off.

  
  
(some light shuffling) 

  
  
Oohh, yep, definitely gonna fall off. Fuck. 

Y’know what Cain and the Prof didn’t have out here? 

  
  
Fuckin chainsaw.

Old man Cain has a whole mess ‘a tools out in that barn, but not one of ‘em is a chainsaw, so three guesses as to who had to go out there and hack a hole into that giant-ass tree trunk with an axe and a handsaw.

I mean, better to get it done as soon as possible. Caught another one of those freaky little dog-sized things-- I’m callin’ em flapjacks ‘cause they’ve got flaps on their jacked-up faces-- digging around near the barn last night. Baby ‘n Bunk ran it off, but I’m a little worried. We’ve never had these things before, so... sooner I get the fence back up, the better.

Doesn’t change the fact that hacking through that much dead, giant-ass tree-thing SUCKS.

The tree took out one of old man Cain’s rocks, too-- split it right in half, fucked up the symbol entirely. I took pictures of all of em ages ago, so I’m gonna get it repainted as soon as possible. 

  
  
Yeah, yeah, it’s superstition, but seriously. I’m stranded in the middle of a science fiction death continent with a baby and a bunch of farm animals. I need all the psychological crutches I can get my grubby paws on, right?

Animals came through the storm all right. Bobby’s still a cranky stumpy horse, cat’s still a cranky furball, Ellen and Bill still wanna eat everything and headbutt everything else, and that dude chicken still sounds like it’s being suffocated-- business as usual. The parrot’s stickin’ to Sammy like glue. I don’t like it being around all the time, but if it’ll protect him from flapjacks or whatever else kinda creepy crawly we got lurkin’ around here, I’ll put the bird on Sam’s shoulder myself.

Oh. Speakin’ of creepy critters. Took a cut off the one Gabe shoved into the food field yesterday and grilled it up in the kitchen, and it is official: flapjacks’re _ tasty as fuck _ .

Gonna have to figure out how to lure ‘em in or trap ‘em somehow. I’ve been kinda worried that I’d have to butcher one of the animals to get protein here in a month or so, and…

… fuck, Dad would call me all kindsa shit for this, but I don’t think I could kill any of ‘em. Not Mug, not Bill, not Ellen, not even Asshole or that damn parrot. 

  
  
Flapjacks, on the other hand? Got no problem gankin’ every last one of the little creepers ‘round here.

  
  
Y’know, that’s a good idea. Gonna go work on that over a beer now.

END RECORDING


	17. Entry ID: 335

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this finds everyone safe and well. I know it'll find you loved, because I think you're wonderful people, I adore you, and wish to convey digital hugs and/or cookies for all of you. You're seen, you've kicked everything else up to this point in the butt, and we're gonna find a way to keep that streak rolling and get through this somehow. There are hugs and days in the sun on the other end. <3
> 
> Just a note-- there were three entries in this update. 334, 335, and 336. :)

Entry ID: 335 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 6/10/4529 - 0430

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 12, 130, 900

Ever have that feeling where you’re like, super excited about something, but you’re also freaked the fuck out? ‘Cause I am so there right now.

  
  
Last five days, I fixed the fence, worked on the Germinator some more-- have I mentioned I fuckin’ hate wiring?-- and put Sammy in his pen in the bedroom for a nap with Baby while I took Bunk out for some flapjack huntin’. 

  
  
Turns out the little fuckers live on those tower tree things. Grey color helps ‘em blend in, and those blue dots look almost like the leaves if you’re not really looking too close. Their feet’re all weird ‘n hooky ‘cause they use ‘em to grab on to the branches and climb. They’re real awkward on the ground but they’re fast as fuck up in the branches. Once they’re up, they watch and wait until some other critter walks under the tree, and bam! They drop down and grab it with that beak thing and the head flaps until they can latch on with their claws.

  
  
Creepy fuckers. 

  
  
They’re lazy, too. Found a dead… uh, something? Not sure what, it was half eaten. Dragged it over and chucked it near a tree where I’d seen a flapjack hiding and waited-- after about ten minutes, the flapjack dropped down and started eating. 

  
  
Kinda had to run like hell when a bigger one came down and a fight started, but if they’ll come down for dead things, I figure I can use that, right?

  
  
Took me a while to figure it out, but I think I’ve got a design that’ll work.

  
  
Today’s the day-- I got Sammy all curled up in a blanket nest in his pen, Baby’s right there with him, everyone else is in the barn or in the rest of the house, and I’m gonna go trap me a flapjack. Wish me luck.

  
  
.

(Eight hours of quiet interspersed with periods of distant activity ensue-- it sounds like Dean comes and goes every so often to check on Sammy, then head back out again. Eventually, footfalls approach the microphone and stop)

.

  
  


… what the… fuck me, I left it on.

Doubt I’m ever gonna get any answers on this thing-- we’re way too far out for intranet hookup, but… 

… it make me soft that I… uh… 

Fuck, why can’t I say it?

  
  
It’s so stupid; this shouldn’t be this hard!

  
  
(Said away from the microphone) Old man isn’t even here, what the fuck am I feeling like this for? Ain’t no one here to scream at me but the bird…

(A deep, bracing sigh)

Okay.

I… I thanked the flapjack, I guess. 

Does that make me soft or something?

  
  
After the trap got it-- seriously got it, by the way, just WHAM and it was out like a light-- and I got it back to the food field, I just… I stood there, lookin’ at Cain’s leather apron on the field dirt an’ the knocked-out flapjack at the end of my rope, and I just… I felt guilty.

  
  
Flapjacks’re weird lookin’ sons of bitches, but they’re still living things, you know? And here I am luring one out of a tree, whackin’ it with a springloaded shovel, and chuckin’ it into a death-square of dirt for a burger.

Well. 

  
  
I mean, we need the protein. We’d be fine if the girl chickens made more eggs, but they’re not. Cain wrote about it-- even though the setup the house has is about perfect and the chickens are the right kind of chicken, something about Chuck just… isn’t good for chickens, I guess, sorta like it isn’t quite perfect for humans, either. Anyway, we get about one or two eggs a week from each girl chicken, tops. Haven’t seen one hatch, either, even though Ugly Mug does his damnedest to get it right. 

  
  
I can’t get the soybeans to grow healthy, either. Something about the bacteria in the roots and the atmosphere on Chuck, I guess; Professor Colette’s notes are way over my head most the time. She’d been working on solving the problem, but never quite found a solution. Swapped over to something called amaranth and another one called buckwheat instead. Gonna have to go through the seed stores to see if any of it is stashed away.

  
  
So like… yeah, protein’s a problem. Gotta fix it-- I want it, but Sammy needs it, growing like he is. 

  
  
So catching an’ tossing this thing into the killer food field is justified, ‘cause I gotta feed my family, right?

I’m not some kinda asshole?

  
  
I guess… 

… aw, hell, I guess I’m just soft, is all.

  
  
Thanks for the guilt trip, creepy flower-face flapjack thing.

And the burgers.   


  
Fuck.

END RECORDING


	18. Entry ID: 336

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this finds everyone safe and well. I know it'll find you loved, because I think you're wonderful people, I adore you, and wish to convey digital hugs and/or cookies for all of you. You're seen, you've kicked everything else up to this point in the butt, and we're gonna find a way to keep that streak rolling and get through this somehow. There are hugs and days in the sun on the other end. <3
> 
> Just a note-- there were three entries in this update. 334, 335, and 336. :)

Entry ID: 336 (transcript)

Date/Time logged: 6/11/4529 - 0121

User: C ADAMSON (cadamson@lukansas.ac.chuck)

SIGNAL ERROR: BEST EST 12, 131, 907

(bottles clinking; something being poured into a cup)

  
  
Y’know, did some thinkin, an… sso what if it makes me soft?

‘M doin’ what feels right, fer once, not… not whatever’s toughest, or scariest, or whatever. I mean, what’ve I got ta prove out here, huh? Whassa poin’ of actin’ like some Big Man when it ain’t no one but me ‘n Sammy an’ a buncha animals?

  
  
Ol’ man Cain’s books, man, they talk all ‘bout that p’fomrance thing, y’know, where dudes keep tryin’ to act like real men, ‘sept it just ends up wiffem hurtin’ themselves and the people ‘round them, right? ‘S jus’ like Dad. Like John. No feelings ‘llowed, no cryin’, no feelin’ scared, nunna that. Gotta be a Real Man, Dean, gotta… gotta Man Up, gotta be tough, gotta… gotta be a strong man, real man!

  
  
But whassa real man, anyway? 

  
  
(More glass clinking; a long series of gulps)

Been wonderin’ that since I first read that book’a Cain’s an’ really started thinkin’ about all this stuff. Don’t think anyone’d say that… (a hiccup) that Sammy wasn’t a man, back when he was still all big and nerdy, but Sammy, he always talked about shit, talked ‘bout feelings an’ really cared about things. Or… or Cain. Guy’s defnile… defani… he’s a man, but you watch some of these videos he and Colette left, an’... he was gentle. Talked to his plants, named all his animals, even… even cried in one video when he lost a girl chicken he’d really liked.

  
  
So… like, whass’ a man?

  
  
Maybe ‘not a chick’, but then ‘s like I got to thinkin’, what’s a real woman?    


Dad’d say a real woman ran the house an’ raised the kids an’ was pretty and gentle and whatever, but hell, I remember Mom enough that she’d  _ kill him _ if she’d heard any’a that, an’ Mom was real a woman as anyone. Same as Charlie. Fuck, I miss Charlie. Li’l ginger spitfire I met down in Eden ‘bout five years ago, smarter’n anyone I ever met an’ didn’ take shit from no one. Or Lisa. Lisa’s a soldier. So badass she trains ‘em day in an’ day out, drill sergeant and all that, an’ shit, thas’ as far from a house and bein’ soft ‘s I can think of. Makes dudes twice my size cry when she’s pissed.   
  


(glass clinks)   
  


‘S bullshit, is what it is. All’ese… ‘ese boxes, right? Real man. Real woman. Do this, do that, don’ fuck up or else.   
  


I don’ wanna be stuck in some ‘real man’ box where I gotta be an asshole, an’ can’t hug my baby brother when he’s scared.    
  


I been there long enough, an’ now there’s no one keepin’ me there no more.   
  


Dunno what that makes me, but… hell, whatever it is, it’s gotta be better’n bein’ some kinda angry robot dick.   
  


Heh. Dick.

  
  


END RECORDING


End file.
